The New Game
by AlterumLux
Summary: Aurora Cresta, sister of famed District 4 victor Annie Cresta, has lived her live in blissful security thanks to her sisters victory. But now, caught up in the aftermath of the 74th Hunger Games with rebellion on the horizon the Quarter Quell is announced, and shes thrown into more danger than she could have ever imagined. Rated T for Hunger Games related gore
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One **

"Try not to do anything too stupid." the big man mutters, shooting a scowl over to me. I flip him the bird, biting my lip to hold back a smile. He scoffs and turns back to the mast, finishing wrapping the rope around the thick wooden pole in the semi-darkness of dawn.

I swing my legs over the stern of the small sail boat where I'm perched and let myself slide, inch by inch, into the freezing water. Instantly I feel the familiar goose bumps rush over my skin, and I'm shivering uncontrollably by the time I'm submerged up to my chin.

"Remember, only the gray ones." barks the man, leaning his head over the side of the boat to look down at me. The scar that runs from his right ear and over to the left side of his chin and across his mouth is bright red, just a shade lighter than the rest of his naturally beet-like face. Its an old scar - faded - but hard not to stare at when you look at him. You can tell that a long time ago, he used to be handsome. Before the scar, before years of sea water and overexposure to the sun took their toll and made his skin leathery and hard.

"O-ok." I stammer, trying and failing not to shiver. He smiles, one of very few, and his teeth are blinding white and perfect. When he smiles, you can see some of his son in him. I shoot a similar smile back at him, and plunge into the freezing ocean.

I feel my chest lock up along with the rest of my muscles. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, the only sound in a dark, silent world. I count to ten, preparing myself, then open my eyes.

It burns at first, as it always does. The salt water is hell on eyes, and if it wasn't for my sisters copious amounts of money that bought fancy medicine, I might have been blind by now, always opening my eyes underwater without protection.

I like it better this way though. It's the way Hannibal taught me when I was still too little to look over the side of the boat, and its the way I plan to do it until I died.

Which, with the Reaping tomorrow, might not be that long.

Five hours and some twenty pounds of oysters later, I haul myself back onto the deck of the boat. Before I have a chance to say anything, a large, plush blanket is around me. "T-t-thanks." I can't keep the shiver out of my voice any longer. I lean back against the wooden side of the boat and push a loose strand of black hair out of my eyes. The methodical rocking of the boat lulls me into an exhausted sleep.

"Aurora, get up." I feel my shoulder being shaken, and when I blink open my still stinging eyes its midday. The sharp smell of rotting fish and seawater plague the air, along with the potent, musty smell the fumes the oil tankers emit. I stretch, letting the soaked blanket fall off my shoulders when I stand.

The North Dock is packed with sailors, deckhands, fish vendors, various traders and a few deep sea captains who haven't been to port all year. Every man is bustling around talking, laughing, drinking or trading. I watched a few young boys dressed in dirty shorts chase a stub-tailed tomcat with a stick, and another boy no older than ten hawking trout prices.

One noticeable thing missing - women. I'd gotten used to the feeling of being an anomaly here, and I noticed a few of the younger men who had just docked after months on sea looking at me sideways. Most of the older captains thought nothing of my presence anymore.

Every sailor was docking today, getting ready for the Reaping tomorrow. The census that took place every year during the Reaping was chaos because, while the actual count was supposed to start a week before, most people didn't actually return to the district until a day before. Most of those people showed up here, the North Dock.

The North Dock, notorious for its illegal activities, is where Hannibal most often docked us. Prices were cheap, and nobody asked questions. The South Dock and West Dock were overrun with larger fishing barges belonging to old, haughty bloodlines that were always competing with one another.

As long as every Captain met his or her fishing quotas for the year nobody from the Capitol asked questions, which was fine with everybody in District 4. The only time anyone from the Capitol checked in on us was to interview Victors or take vacations at one of the coastal resorts.

Most people from District 4 didn't even know those existed.

I grab one one of the handles on basket full of oysters, and Hannibal tosses one of the skinny kids running around on the main dock a coin to come up and help. In a few minutes we're surrounded by filthy street boys, all clamoring for a coin and helping unload the small sailboat. We're finally standing on the dock, and I'm turned tying the boat to a post when I hear a gasp and spin around.

"Hey!" Barks Hannibal, grabbing one of the smaller boys, maybe nine, by the wrist. The kids bright green eyes go wide, and his mouth starts moving like hes talking but no sound comes out. Hes dressed in little more than rags, canvas breeches and a once white sailing shirt, all torn in various places from overuse. "What's in your pocket?" Hannibal snarls.

"I-I-I'm sorry..." He stammers, reaching into his pocket with his other hand and pulling out an oyster. "M-my sister is hungry and..." He trails off, looking like hes going to cry. The other boys are staring, wide eyed. Hannibal looks up at them.

"And how many of you stole then?" He growls, and slowly but surely almost all of the boys pull one or more oysters out of their pockets. I'm about to intervene - most of these poor kids are starving - when Hannibal lets the kids wrist go and smiles softly. "Alright, fill your pockets then." he growls again, but without any of the edge his tone had before.

The boys stare unmoving for a moment before falling onto one of the baskets like piranhas. When they're pockets are near bursting they sprint off as if they're afraid Hannibal will change his mind and call the Peace Keepers. I stare sadly at the over half empty basket of oysters.

"A morning wasted." I mutter, reaching into the basket myself and pulling out a unusually large oyster. I crack it open and am about to suck out the slimy inside when I feel a sharp smack at the back of my head. "Ow." I spit, turning to Hannibal, whose frowning at me.

"Not wasted." He murmurs, then turns back to hail down one of the vendors calling out carts to help transport daily catches to the Main Dock, the place where Captains go to deliver their quotas and trade whatever's left.

"Hannibal Odair!"

Both our heads snap towards the voice. I see a tall man dressed flamboyant clothes, reminiscent of the latest Capitol trends, walking towards us. He wears sunglasses and a strange looking hat with blue feathers sticking out the top.

"Mortimer." calls Hannibal, inclining his head towards the man.

"Old friend." laughs Mortimer, stalking up to Hannibal and embracing him. I recognize him now, Mortimer Boivin, the mayor of District 4.

He and Hannibal had grown up together in the slums of District 4, an area commonly referred to as Boontown. A long time ago, as rumor would tell it, it was an area that had been owned by Boon Crawberry, a wealthy man who owned half the docks and all the ships in them. After he died, his five sons had tried to split the wealth between them and the result had been disastrous. As a result, the once thriving Boontown had broken out into a hub for illegal trade and prostitution, and the two remaining bloodlines, the Craws and the Berrys, were forever at odds and still the two wealthiest families in District 4.

"What brings you out here?" Hannibal asks, keeping his voice even. Hannibal isn't a easy to read or open man, but when you spend almost every day with a man from the time you're six, you learn some things about him.

Mortimer had worked for a wealthy man when he was a boy, and when that man had died had left Mortimer, only 17, five strong fishing vessels. Mortimer had made Hannibal the captain of one, and he himself was the captain of another. Quickly he became rich, with Hannibal at his side. When they were 20, Hannibal had gotten into an accident, the same one he'd gotten his scar in. Thats another story, but he was physically impaired for two years. When he was able to walk again, Mortimer had cut him out of the fishing business, giving Hannibals ship to a man named Murdock Barson, son of Naylor Barson, a wealthy captain Mortimer wanted to become business partners with. When he was thirty he had been elected mayor over Segar Craw, now known only as Craw, the second most influential person in the district.

Hannibal, for Mortimers credit, was given a large sum of money every month since the accident, but not anything like he could have made if Mortimer hadn't left him.

"I'm looking for your son!" Mortimer booms, his voice strong for a man of sixty. Hes had much of the plastic surgery the men in the Capitol get, so you can hardly tell hes a day over thirty. About ten years ago Mortimer had offered Hannibal the same surgery to remove the scar and make him look younger, but Hannibal had refused.

"Finnick?" Hannibal asks, and although his mouth stays even I can see his frown in his eyes.

"The very same. Some camera people from the Capitol are here and they want to do a cameo of him! They're doing it of all the mentors this year I hear." Mortimers smile is huge, his teeth, which had once been famous for their crookedness, were perfect.

"Did you check the house?"

"Oh of course! Wasn't there. I was wondering if he was with you..." Mortimer trails off, noticing me for the first time. "Well hello." he smiles again, his eyes lingering on me for a second too long.

"Hello." I say without emotion. I'd met the man before, but not since I was twelve and Annie had won the Hunger Games.

"Mort, Aurora Cresta, sister of Annie Cresta." Hannibal says with a nod in my direction. His voice is pleasant but his eyes and mouth are hard.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Aurora." He says my name in a slow drawl, like he's tasting it. Mortimer was known for taking an interest in some of the younger girls from Boontown, something I'd listened to Hannibal rant about more than once.

"The pleasure is all mine." My voice is monotonous, my eyes hard. I see his smile slip to a soft frown as he turns back to Hannibal.

"So, any idea where he's at?" His voice isn't as blithe anymore. Hannibal shakes his head slowly.

"No idea, I haven't seen him all week." By the time Hannibal finishes, Mortimer is already turning around. I frown, recognizing everything Hannibal just said as a lie.

"If you see him, send him my way!" Mortimer shouts with a half wave as he slinks off. Hannibal turns to me, biting his lower lip.

"Hurry." Hannibal mutters, "If they find him first they'll be hell to pay."

"I'll get there first." I murmur back, pulling on supple leather boots that had been sitting in the boat. They're not real leather, real leather would be ruined by the sea water in a day. Its a type of leather alternate with a fancy name. I got them a few years ago from Finnick as a birthday present.

"I'll be back at the house in a few hours." Hannibal finishes, turning back to the vendor with the carts.

I turn and sprint down the dock and through an alley between a place that sells nets and another that sells other various boat supplies.

"Dammit Finnick." I curse under my breath, feeling my heart speeding up.

If anyone finds him...there really will be hell to pay. Not just for him, but everyone close to him.

And that could mean me.

I pick up the pace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

It takes me fifteen minutes to get to Boontown. I take back roads, used mostly for transporting fish to the Main Dock, to avoid being seen. Boontown doesn't have an official entrance, but the run down mansion that used to belong to Boon Crawberry is widely considered its beginning.

The mansion used to be one of the most amazing sights in the world. One hundred feet tall and made from carved marble, it cost more to build then the Presidents mansion - at least according to the story. Now, over one hundred years since Boon's death, it was in disarray. Large marble columns had eroded down to nothing, allowing for much of the structure to crumble its own weight and left large marble cinder blocks scattered around its base. The entire thing was covered in bush and vines.

It was condemned, but the Craws and Berrys refused to allow it to be torn down. A once beautiful, prideful landmark, reduced to useless rubble.

From there on, Boontown, with its dilapidated houses, liquor stores, and black market trading centers ran free. Perpetually dark, people shuffled down streets avoiding eye contact with one another. The sharp stench of alcohol was everywhere, along with the smell of burning rubber that I couldn't explain. I got more than one hard look from the bone thin, starving residents there. Two little girls, holding each others hands, stared at me with wide, starving eyes. I put my head down and walked faster, shame turning my face red.

Between Hannibals resourcefulness and then Annies money, I hadn't been starving since I was six.

I was despised here for it.

These were the kids who were called "Reapers". "Reapers" were kids who didn't volunteer for the Games and who had never been trained, therefore not standing a chance. Not every Reaper died, Finnick was a shining example, but he had been stronger and better fed at 14 then most of the kids living in Boontown would be their entire lives.

The hub of the black market, called Tails (the legitimate market in the main district square was called Heads), was busy. This market, unlike Heads, was a makeshift mess of booths all meant to be taken down or destroyed at the first hint of Peacekeepers. I walk over to one of the least dirty booths, run by an older man who was perpetually drunk.

"Collin." I have to shout because some ten years ago his hearing all but left him. He looks at me sleepily before taking another swig of some white liquid out of his flask. "Collin!" I yell, leaning over the booth to be close to his face. This time his eyes go wide and his mouth breaks out into a yellow, crooked smile.

"Aurora!" He laughs, slurring my name so badly it sounds like "A-ra-ra". "What brings you to my humble abode." It sounds like "Wa bingou to by humabod". He thinks its funny for some reason and starts laughing so hard it doubles him over, then really doubles over from coughing fit brought on by the laughing. When he recovers, he takes a long pull from the flask.

People are starting to look at us. Collin pulls a lot of attention, which is why hes risky. But I know that Collin is who Finnick buys the most from, because the chances of Collin remembering anything the next day are second to none.

"Collin, I need to know if Finnick was here." I coax, hoping a change in tone will make him listen. He stares at me for a few seconds before blinking, leaning over and throwing up. I rub the spot between my eyes where I'm starting to get a headache when I feel a light tap on my shoulder. I turn to see one of the little girls I'd seen earlier staring up at me, the smaller girl a few feet behind her.

"Finnick Odair?" She asks, her head cocked to the side. I bend down so I'm eye level with her.

"Yes, do you know where he is?" I emphasize the know. She starts nodding.

"We saw him earlier buying the white stuff from Collin." She chirps, and I put one finger over my mouth to show her to be quiet.

"He was buying." Echos the smaller girl in a whisper.

"Can you show me where he went?" I ask, and they nod simultaneously and take off towards one of the rundown buildings on the other side of the market. I follow close behind, trying to be an inconspicuous as possible.

The lead me to a small, rundown house I recognize. "Thank you." I smile down at them, and their faces light up when I hand them each a shiny gold coin. They take off running as I open the door, holding my breath as a musty, dead animal smell attacks my nostrils.

This house, the one Hannibal grew up in, hasn't been lived in for almost fifty years. More than one animal has made its home here, evident from the nests in every corner of the small living room. There are cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, and three inches of dust coating every surface. Its a three room, one story house, and I walk briskly over to the only door on the left wall of the living room and throw it open, almost vomiting when the smell of thrown up alcohol rushes to meet me.

The great Finnick Odair, winner of the 65th Hunger Games and heart throb of the Capitol, is passed out on the floor and covered his his own barf. Hes dressed in common sailing slobs, an unlaced white, loose fitting shirt and tan breeches. Three empty, smashed bottles litter the ground around him and his face, normally bright and radiating life, is deathly pale.

He gets this way before the Reaping, especially years he has to mentor.

I walk over to him, taking care to step around the glass and throw up, and shake his shoulder. "Finnick!" I hiss, shaking harder.

"Mmahmm.." He moans, shifting slightly. I sigh, wishing there was another way, before slapping him hard on the bicep.

It does the trick. His eyes, bloodshot and dilated, fly open and he jumps up, making me fall backwards. I catch myself but not before a shard of glass from one of the smashed bottles embeds itself in my hand. My breath catches and I bite my lip to keep from screaming as Finnick looks around in confusion.

"What the..." He murmurs, looking down at me as I clutch my throbbing, bleeding hand to my chest. "Aurora, what are you-" Hes cut off by a loud banging at the door. We both freeze in our spots.

"Peacekeepers, open up!" A deep, authoritative voice yells. We lock eyes for a second before the banging picks back up. "Open up or we'll break down the door!"

Did somebody see Finnick come in? Or did the little girls sell us out for a good price? A thousand scenarios play through my mind, all ending with Finnick arrested and whipped, and myself possibly executed. "The window!" I hiss, the pain in my hand all but forgotten as adrenaline smashes through my body.

Finnick jumps over the mess, moving faster than I'd expect him to in his condition, and with a grunt opens up the window on the far side of the room. I push myself up, the throbbing in my hand no longer my biggest preoccupation. The smashing on the front door gets louder, and I can hear the old wood moan in protest.

"Go, I have to hold it open." Finnick hisses, one hand on the window frame, the other ready to help me jump out. I take it and climb out the window in the least graceful manner possible. I fall, and go sprawling in the bushes outside the window when the loudest bang of all is accompanied by the splintering of wood.

"Come on!" I shout, giving up on secrecy. He all but falls out the window, unable to do much more in his half hungover state. I grab his arm and pull him to his feet as we hear the pounding of boots on the hardwood floor inside the house. "Get up and run!" I yell, and we take off sprinting through the brush and between rotting wooden houses, dodging random pedestrians and they stare at us dumbstruck.

We don't stop and don't turn around for at least ten minutes, the rhythmic, synchronized padding of our feet and breath keeping us going. Finally, once we're almost at the South Dock, we stop and Finnick starts throwing up into the brush. I take a second to inspect my hand which, now that the adrenaline is wearing off, is beginning to sting again.

The flow of blood is obstructed by the clear shard of glass, about as long as my middle finger, still stuck in it. I flinch and rip off a piece of fabric from my shirt to tie around it until somebody who knows what they're doing can remove it.

That taken care of, I turn back to Finnick who is just straightening up, wiping his mouth. The run put some color back into his cheeks, but hes a long way from camera ready, which he'll need to be in only a few hours. "You picked a great day to go missing." I growl, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. He turns to me, staring daggers.

"I didn't ask you to come get me." He spits, and starts walking off toward nowhere. Hes still partially drunk, I can tell from his off balance gait. I follow him, poison seeping into my thoughts.

"Because letting them find you and punish you, me, Hannibal and Annie would have been the better option." I spit, saying Annies name the loudest of all. He turns to me, looking like hes about to hit me, when he cracks.

"I can't." He mutters, running a hand through his hair, "I can't watch more of the kids die." Its the alcohol talking, I know that, but for the first time in years, Finnick looks afraid. I hug him, unsure of what else to do. He hugs me back, and I smell the familiar saltwater smell of him beneath the pungent alcohol.

His body's familiar to me, not in a sexual way but because from the time I was six I've spent most of my waking hours with him. His arms and his chest, and even his heart all mold into me as we embrace, his weakness flowing into me and my strength, however fake it might be, flowing into him.

And, for the first time, a warm fluttering in the pit of my stomach picks up. Never in my life have I thought as Finnick as more than an older brother/friend figure.

But that fluttering picks up.

I break off the hug first, frightened. Finnick is my best friend, practically my brother with his dad having at some point when I was a kid somewhat adopting me, and hes also in love with my sister, Annie. I stare into his sea green eyes, forcing whatever I'd just felt down, and I smile.

"We need to get you cleaned up."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

By the time we get to the tall, obsidian gates that guard the entrance to Victors Village we're out of breath and sweating in the blazing mid afternoon sun. Finnicks even worse off because, to conceal his identity, I'd bought him a gray shawl that covered his face but also the rest of his body in the thick fabric.

In school we'd read about winter and the snow that accompanies it, but never in my memory had it been cold in District 4. We'd learned about freezing temperatures, and while snow sounded interesting the cold seemed like a hassle. We had enough people starving to death on the streets - children who didn't have parents who could work, old deckhands who couldn't sail but didn't have enough to support themselves, mothers whose husbands had died at sea and couldn't support their families. Adding freezing to death to the list of ways those displaced people could die was the last thing we needed.

The man guarding the gate, Kale, nods to us as he clicks a button to open it. I nod back, ignoring his quizzical look at my half put together companion, and stride through the gate as calmly as I can, leading Finnick.

This is the danger zone.

As soon as I lay eyes on the chaos that is Victors Village I feel my heart sink. As a family member of a victor, I'm expected to maintain some level of civility, at least during the games season. I honestly cannot remember the last time I washed my hair, being a strong believer that diving daily into the ocean qualifies as a bath. Not to mention I can't really remember the last time I brushed my hair.

Plus, I'm currently toting around a drunk Finnick, who is supposed to be the star of this years show.

I start running my fingers through the tangle that is my hair nervously, surveying the area for any sign of anyone who doesn't look like a rainbow threw up on them.

The entire square of Victors Village has been taken over by people from the Capitol. They stick out like sore thumbs, with their multicolored hair and strange outfits. I see at least three woman with what I think are jewels embedded in their skin, and and least six men in the color changing suits Finnick and I had been making fun of not three days ago. The only thing that outnumbers the Capitol people are the cameras.

There are hundreds of cameras everywhere. At least eight are pointed at each of the twenty occupied Victor houses, another ten at the fountain in the middle of the square, and another twenty at the grove directly across the square from the gate that's grown over with one-hundred different colored roses. It was a present from President Snow to Finnick when he became the youngest victor, and it was the place they'd do the mentor interviews, special for the Quarter Quell.

"Shit." I whisper, not seeing help anywhere. Finnick echos me as we stare into the shark tank of reporters, all whom would kill to run the story of how Finnick Odair was drunk the day before the Reaping.

I do see a number of Victors we know, none of whom would be any help. Irvin Glendower, winner of the 69th Hunger Games, a year before Annies, is with Nadia Kempe, winner of the 63rd Games, talking to a group of reporters. Another group of three victors, Ren Neese, Pavati Giles and Talla Reston are doing an interview by the fountain. The three of them are famous for winning three consecutive games in a row - 45rd, 46th, and 47th respectively - all by volunteering. It wasn't until them that volunteering became a common practice in the Districts. From snippets I could hear they were talking about the most recent victor, Katniss Everdeen from District 12 and her volunteering for her sister.

District 4 has more Victors than we know what to do with. Some forty-five years ago a school opened up that specialized in training kids for the Games. It was all under the radar of course, with training before the Games being technically illegal but nobody from the Capitol cared though, as long as every year we delivered two fit, ready to fight kids for the arena. With the school there was never a short supply of battle-ready fame seekers, many of those capable of winning the games, resulting in our district having the second highest number of living victors behind District 2. Around 50% of District 4's youth attended, myself excluded. We have very few Victors who didn't attend the school, but one notable exception was my very own Finnick Odair, whom my chances of getting into a house without being seen seemed to be getting slimmer every minute.

"Come." I hear a scratchy, familiar voice mumble. I turn to see Madeline Berry, commonly known as Mags, the oldest Victor in Panem. Her wrinkled face is lit up in a soft smile as she motions for us to follow her. Shes dressed in a pretty purple coat with the hood pulled up so no one can see her. She suffered a stroke some five years back and ever since then has had a hard time dealing with the bright lights and camera flashes a victor has to endure. She hugs Finnick then kisses me on the cheek before grabbing my hand and leading us away from the mess of reporters in a wide arc towards Finnicks house.

We're a house away from when someone finally notices us and runs over. Its a young woman with bright orange hair and matching makeup. She has the Mockingjay symbol tattooed on her face, a common accessory in the Capitol of late. Her clothes are those someone would wear to the beach, a cut off top exposing more tattoos on her shoulders and chest, short shorts and the highest stilettos I've ever seen. Her bright orange lipstick is as distracting as the bright light from the camera pointed directly at me.

"So who are you then?" she asks breathlessly in the high Capital accent. She doesn't notice Finnick with his face hidden, and he slyly backs away. I open my mouth to answer, but before I can Mags steps forward.

"No." she says softly, pushing the microphone away gently. The poor woman from the Capitol, already shaking, becomes completely lost.

"Oh-oh oh!" She squeals, her eyes getting even wider. "Your Madeline!" She takes a step towards Mags, putting the microphone close to her mouth as the cameraman swings the bright light away from me and into Mags's face. "Oh-oh my-oh so..." The reporter is too excited to even ask a question. I look back at Finnick who's still backing up slowly, five feet away from us now.

"That will be enough I think." I turn to see another Victor, Morgen Hopkins, towering over all five of our little group. His smile is kind but stern, and the poor reporter woman looks like shes going to lose it. Morgen, known for being one of the largest most intimidating men of all time, has not gotten any smaller since he won the games when he was 15. If anything, edging towards 50, hes larger. Almost eight feet of muscle with leathery, sun tanned skin, a close cropped beard and hair whiter than the clouds, he's hard not to pay attention too. Along with Finnick and a woman named Tyler who killed herself before I was born, he was mentored by Mags.

"Oh!" She squeaks, giving up on speech entirely as Morgen puts a one hand on each of Mags and I's back and ushers towards Finnicks house, this time uninterrupted. He laughs softly when he notices Finnick, and throws his arm around his shoulders.

"I'm glad to see you decided to show up." He jokes, and I hear Finnick laugh from beneath the hood.

"Thank you." I sigh to Morgan when we reach Finnicks house. He smiles down at me and laughs softly.

"Don't be thanking me yet, your mother's been calling every house for an hours trying to find you." I hear Mags laugh softly next to me, and her and Morgan share a look.

"Blame Hannibal." I shoot back, starting to feel another headache forming. Morgan laughs, and the other two join in.

"Victors are impossible." I growl, throwing open Finnicks front door and letting myself in, the three of them on my heels.

Finnicks house is cleaner than you'd expect. Only him and Hannibal live here, and Hannibal only uses it for sleeping. Finnick is gone half the year at the Capitol and the other half hardly stays at home anyway. It's maintained by a small staff I made Hannibal hire some five years back when I'd come over and found a pile of rotting fish guts sitting on the counter. Because its hardly lived in, every surface is sparkling, but it has a empty feeling despite the excess of furniture.

"You're late."

My head snaps up to see Hannibal, dressed in a dark blue almost black suit. I've never seen him dressed up, and the first thing out of my mouth is, "Your...tie." His tie has the symbol of a trident on it, in honor of Finnick who won his games with a trident. It's a pretty common symbol around the District. I hear Morgan burst out into joyful laughter at me, and he walk up to Hannibal and hugs him.

"Good to see you coming out of your shell." Morgan laughs, letting go of Hannibal. Hannibal, who is also a large man, looks dwarfed next to Morgan.

"Cora made me." He growls in his usual tone, messing with the collar of the dress shirt. Cora is the head maid, and I'd put her in charge of making Hannibal presentable for social events after last year when they'd done Victors families interviews and he'd shown up in shorts and a white shirt covered in fish guts.

"It looks good." I smile, recovering. I feel somebody grab my still-throbbing-but-forgot-about hand and turn to see Mags studying it.

"Ow." She frowns, pointing at it. I see Hannibal scowl as he comes over to see the damage. Morgan strides towards the kitchen, no doubt to clean out whatever Hannibal has left. Morgan eats twice as much as a normal man to compensate for his size.

"What happened?" Hannibal asks, directing the question at Finnick who has stripped off the gray shawl. He still looks pale, but his eyes are more focused as he sobers up.  
>The similarities between father and son are striking. Apart, its hard to tell their related but when they're together it's obvious. They have the same eyes, face shape, lips, and even the same colored hair. Hannibals is going gray in most places, but you can still see flecks of the signature bronze that he gave Finnick.<p>

They also share the same hard look they have when they're annoyed.

"She cut herself." Finnick drawls, breaking eye contact with Hannibal first.

"She cut herself." Hannibal echos. After a few seconds of silence he scoffs, then stalks away to join Morgen in the kitchen. Finnick keeps his jaw clenched then heads up the stairs.

"They act like they're five." I grumble to Mags who leads me to the large bathroom on this floor. Its big enough to hold twenty people with a huge hot tub, a shower, and the biggest bathroom counter I've ever seen. Mags makes me stand at the counter while she gets tweezers and a weird bandaid made in the Capitol meant to speed up healing and not leave a scar.

"Men." she sighs back, and I laugh as she pulls the shard out. I only flinch once, and by the time its patched up I can't feel anything.

"Thanks." I mutter, following her out of the bathroom. Hannibal and Morgen talk in low, fast voices. I can't hear what they're saying, but they cut off when they see me.

"Your mother called again." Morgen says slowly, shifting uncomfortability. I sigh, knowing what comes next.

"Whats the damage?" I ask, already knowing the answer but going through the motions anyway.

"She says...well, "Don't come back to the house unless you want to be shot."" He sounds uncomfortable, but I'm used to empty death threats made by the woman I'm forced to call my mother. I nod, panicking for a second as I realize I'll have to make an appearance at the reveal of the Quarter Quell tonight in a tank top and shorts.

"You can wear one of Gwen's old dresses, you're about her size." Hannibal says without any emotion, but the meaning behind his words is astonishing. Gwen, his wife and Finnicks mother, had died when Finnick was five. She had moved to District 4 from 8, where they make textiles. I'd seen a few of her dresses before, ones she'd done herself, made from some of the most beautiful material I'd ever seen.

Hannibal had kept hold of them for years, his last piece of his dead wife.

My shock must show on my face, because Hannibal smiles softly at me. "Their upstairs in the closet in the spare room." He mutters, before walking back towards the kitchen.

"I better leave, I'm sure they're clamoring for me out there." Morgen says with a wink before leaving.

I go upstairs, just as clean as the downstairs, and find the spare room easily enough. Inside there is various boxes of old fishing lines, poles, pictures, and clothes. Also, taking up a fair amount of room is a wooden closet. When I open it, a dusty yet somehow clean smell wafts out, with the faint hint of perfume.

I run my fingers over the dresses, reveling in them for a second. I wasn't one to get excited about clothes, but these were beautiful. Then I saw it.

It takes me less than an hour to get ready, but by the time I'm done the sun halfway below the skyline. I look at myself once more in the mirror, wanting to remember what I look like on this night.

The dress I'd chose was a simple, strapless, sapphire blue one that came about mid-thigh. The bodice was jeweled with silver, sparkling jewels that shimmered as I moved. My black hair hung in loose curls falling to a bit below my chest, and my skin, tanned from overexpose to the sun, glowed. I hadn't put much makeup on, just mascara. My favorite part of the dress was the way it made my eyes, also a shade of sapphire blue, stand out. I'd found heels, a manageable three inches, that matched the silver gems on the dress.

"You look beautiful." I hear someone murmur behind me. I turn to see Finnick, dressed in a formal black suit and tie, looking stunning. I blink, because he hadn't used the afflicted purr he faked in Capitol interviews to compliment me, like he normally does.

It doesn't take a lot to make Finnick Odair pretty, a blessing considering the state he'd been in a few hours ago. He must have applied something to his face to take the pale complexion away, or a hot shower had done the trick. He puts out his arm, smiling. "Lets go."

I take his arm, letting him lead me down stairs. Waiting at the bottem are Hannibal and Mags, both dressed and ready. I see Hannibal staring at me, his eyes strangely sad but a smile plastered on his face. "Beautiful!" exclaims Mags, hugging me. Hannibal hugs me next, but without words. When we break apart I let out a giggle, something I don't think I've done for years.

"Are you wearing cologne?" I giggle, and Hannibals face slips into a scowl while everyone laughs.

We make our way outside, the square of Victors Village lit up with huge overhead lights. The center of attention is the two thrones in the grove where a group of Capitol people bustle around a girl already occupying one of them.  
>The girl, the Victor of the games two years ago, Neressia Seagate, will be mentoring this years tributes with Finnick. She won her games not with skill or smarts, but by blundering around stupidly in a flood where she was the only one who could swim. Only 16, she hadn't won any sponsors and hadn't done anything especially interesting in the arena to make her stand out. She was rude, and rather plump with an uneven face and squished, pug-like features. Her dress, a gaudy gown meant to distract and too flashy to be pretty, looked too tight.<p>

It was part of the reason Finnick was made a mentor this year. Natural charm, good looks and a Capitol favorite was needed to balance out Neressia's unfavor with the Capitol. Finnick gives me a squeeze around the shoulders before strutting off towards the other throne, greeted by camera flashes and a cheer from the Capitol people in attendance.

The rest of the victors and their families were being seated in rows of chairs behind a big screen directly in front of the thrones. The screen showed the live footage of the thrones and we would watch the interviews and the reveal of the Quarter Quell rule change from the screen. I see my mother with Annie and my twelve year old sister Lilly in the third row.

My mother, dressed in a bright green gown reminiscent of the ones found in the Capitol with her black hair, the only thing I inherited from her, on top of her head almost a foot high. Her stern, bird-like features were coated in makeup to hide the wrinkles of middle age and her thin lips were pursed in distaste at the world in general. Annie looked pretty but after she went rather mad in her games had a strange tick of playing with her hair, something my mother seemed to be telling her to knock off. Lilly, who took after my mother in looks and personality, was sitting up straight looking like she just ate something sour.

I was lost on where to sit for a minute, scanning the crowd, when I feel a pull on my arm. Hannibal leads me to where Morgen and his sister May with her husband Marko and their son Alder sit. Mags is already by them, and another Victor Clemore Targon is talking to Morgen.

As soon as we sit, a Capitol man dressed in a flamboyant purple suit with a matching skin tone and eyebrows sitting on a small chair between the trones is calling for quiet. After a quick countdown the interviews start.

Finnick is the master of this. Him and the interviewer exchange light banter and us in the crowd laugh on cue. Neressia attempts a few comments, but for the most part stays out of the way.

Its exhausting, sitting up straight and smiling pleasantly. While all eyes are on Finnick, we are still being recorded and every time Finnick says something especially funny the camera cuts to us. Even Hannibal laughs occasionally, and I start to relax.

All of the sudden, while the interviewer is asking Neressia a serious question, somebody bursts out laughing. I look to see my mother scolding Annie, who has gone back to playing with her hair. We all pretend not to have heard it, and the interviewer continues without missing a beat.

I'm staring at her for a second, then back up to Finnick on the big screen. All of the sudden, the flutter I felt earlier is back. It sets me on edge and churns my stomach. For a few seconds, I'm in rage over why he would love _her_.

_She's mad._ A harsh voice in my head whispers. _She's mad and he loves her, so whats wrong with you?_

I bite my lip and force the thought away, feeling bad for even letting it cross my mind.

By the time I'm resolving my internal struggle, the reporter is announcing we will now cut to the Capitol to hear the reading of the Quarter Quell. Theres some excited chatter from the audience but we get silent as the big screen cuts to the Capitol seal, then to a overview shot of the Capitol, with thousands of its residents crowded outside the Justice Building, waiting for the President to come out and read the card. "I was supposed to go to the biggest party of the year." I hear one of the Capitol residents behind me complain, but they're quickly shushed because the Presidents walking onto the balcony.

"Citizens of Panem." He booms through the microphone, his voice echoing over the vast crowd. President Snow, a rather round man with hard features, partially covered by a snow white beard and hair. Hes neatly groomed in a blueish purple suit, and lacks the customary Capitol afflictions in look and voice. "We gather here today to witness the rule change for the seventy fifth Hunger Games!" The applause that follows is deafening. Our much smaller crowd applauds politely, nothing more. He continues with a little speech about the rebellion and how far we've come.

I allow myself a few seconds to imagine my life if the rebellion had been successful. I wouldn't know any of the people here. I wouldn't know Mags. I wouldn't know Morgan. I wouldn't know Hannibal.

I wouldn't know Finnick.

But I would be free. I imagine for a few seconds being able to go anywhere, set sail and never come back, like they did in the stories. Or visit other Districts, maybe even see a city like the Capitol and experience all the fineries there. Its enough to make me breathless.

"...will be chosen from a pool consisting of direct family members to living victors."

A collective gasp rises from the crowed, and I rubberneck around, trying to get caught up on what happened while I was day dreaming. "Your seventy fifth Quarter Quell! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" Announces the President, and the screen goes black, leaving us in darkness.

"What's the Quell?" I whisper to Hannibal, but then I notice he's gone white. I hear someone let out a shuddering sob, and I look back at Morgans sister holding Alder. Somebody screams, and I see Irvin pushing one of the Capitol people back, his son who's twelve this year crying. Someone in the back screams, "They can't do this!"

After a few seconds, chaos erupts.

Its a riot. Theres screaming, crying, pushing, and I'm tripped by one of the Capitol people running. I look around, realizing I've lost Hannibal, Mags, and Morgen in the mess. I get up, turn to try to get away when a Capitol man punches me in the jaw.

My vision becomes spotted for a second, and when I blink that away he's winding up again. This time, I side-step and grab his arm, putting one hand on the back of his neck and pulling. I feel his shoulder clunk out of place and he goes down screaming.

Before I have the time to get away, someone pulls me by my hair down to the ground. I look up and see my mother in fury, her face red and her hair falling out.

Her eyes crazed.

"If its her, you will volunteer." she screams, spit hitting my face. I try to push her off of me, but her grip on my hair intensifies and she slams my head into the stone walkway, making my vision go black.

"DO YOU HEAR ME." She screams, shaking me by the hair. I feel my neck moving strangely and for a second I'm worried she's going to snap my neck. "YOU WILL VOLUNTEER IF THEY CALL HER NAME." I struggle feebly, but the blow to my head was hard enough to disorient me.

"YOU WILL BE THE ONE TO DIE IN THE ARENA, YOU STUPID BASTARD, NOT HER." She screams and on the last five words smash my head into the stone on a beat.

"S-stop..." I croak, spitting up blood. Everything is blurry but I see her deranged face illuminated by a dancing light. She'd hit me before, but nothing like this.

She'd never tried to kill me.

"YOU WILL DIE, NOT HER, NOt her..." she smashes my head one last time then starts bawling. She relaxes her grip, giving me enough time to push myself away from her.

The world spins. I feel somebody grab me, but I don't have the strength to fight. I see fire, and there are so many screams. One might be me.

"Aurora, hold on, its going to be ok." I hear a soft voice coax. Its Morgen. It sounds like hes crying.

"Morgen..." I slur. "Wha' is it?"

"It's ok, it's going to be ok." I hear him whimper, he's carrying me, and he's crying.

Morgen doesn't cry.

The pieces begin to fall in place.

'_A pool consisting of direct family members'. _The words bounce around my mind as I realize what they mean. I know every Victor in District 4, and most do not have families, and those that do have sons. There is only two girls of reaping age directly related to a living victor in District 4.

And I know which one my mother wants in the Arena.

'_You will be the one in the arena, you stupid bastard.' _She'd never called me a bastard before.

But I also understood the odds of one slip versus six.

No, the odds are not in my favor.

"It's going to be ok." I hear Morgen cry, but its far off as blissful darkness rushes in to meet me.

The last thing I see is the screen, still showing the Capitol seal, going up in flames.


End file.
